And The Band Played On
by xxmaybe
Summary: It was a quiet night when the CSI slipped out of the building & out of their lives. A year later brought back at her once mentor's request, faced with the daunting task of a high profile case in a strained department. Would she be so easily welcomed back?
1. Chapter 1

**What Stays In Vegas: Chapter One**

Elizabeth had turned to the window to avoid the red light of the answer machine that'd continued to blink much to her annoyance. The rain had been pouring for three days straight and was showing no sign of letting up; it'd interfered with her work all day doubling her workload. She'd managed to get off work early and in her haste to get out before being called back in had forgotten her umbrella. With only the morning's paper to protect her from the falling rain, she'd gotten drenched dodging puddles while jumping from doorway to doorway until she came to a stop at her apartment building.

She adored the views from her apartment, the expansive windows opened up onto a generous view of the city, a selling point when purchasing it, her first home. Stood in front of them, hidden by the darkness of the room having not switched any lights on, as she watched the people below dart from one covered shop entrance to another. Umbrellas starting to pop up and down the street as she sipped at the white wine from the glass in her hand.

Though the thought of being wrapped up inside all day, out the way of the weather had been an appeasing one, the reality wasn't as comforting as her imagination thought it to be. Black clouds were still circling the city, signalling the storm the weatherman had predicted was brewing and was certainly imminent.

A sigh on her lips she ran a hand through her damp hair. Placing the wine glass on the side table, next to the answer machine, she moved across the room until she came to a stop at the calendar that was propped up on the sideboard.

Turning back to look at the open plan living room she debated on switching on one of the lamps. But seeing how she had coped without any light since arriving home, she forewent them in order to prolong her dark mood that the room had seemed to pick up on. Only highlighted by the shadows from the streetlights outside, which flickered shadows against the corners of the far walls of the room.

The answer machine had been blinking, signalling new messages, since her arrival home. She'd bypassed it the first time for the shower and clean clothes, now she avoided it for the last message on the machine. It was the last of four, the previous quick reminders from work and the garage down the street updating her on the repairs to her car.

The voice, though quiet and soft-spoken, had filled the room up echoing in her ears. The message had played no longer than ten seconds before she dashed across the room hitting the pause button no longer being able to bare the sound that came from the tiny speakers.

Dropping down into the chair in front of her computer desk, she watched the rain hit against the windows. Swinging slowly, side to side, she glanced at the clock, it'd been hours since she'd arrived home, and the Chinese takeout she'd ordered to be delivered on her way there, still lay unopened on the kitchen counter.

Spinning her chair around, she pulled the calendar at the side of her desk closer so she could get a better look at the dates. Without realising it, she started to work out how long she'd been living there. By a rough judgement, she worked out she'd been working there for just under a year. Despite being settled for such a long time, she was still struggling to call it home. She'd hoped between various cities before settling on an offer in Seattle, one she certainly couldn't pass up. Elizabeth had been trying desperately to make it home, but no matter how many photos she put up or personal belongings that scattered the shelves it still wasn't somewhere that she felt comfortable to call home.

Tapping the side of the chair the knowledge that her answer machine was still beeping, signalling an unplayed message she couldn't ignore it any longer.

Pushing the chair back under the desk, she walked the length of the open room and without debate leant down and pressed play. It was now or never, and like a band-aid, she knew it was best to get it over and done with.

Static and background noise filtered through the tiny digital speakers, waiting for his voice to kick in she picked up her discarded wine glass, cradling it to her chest as she turned to face the windows once more, watching the city streets that seemed to be thriving despite the rain.

For a moment she thought the message had stopped playing, the quite was unsettling and made her feel nervous, her grip on the wine glass was beginning to become strained. The eventually his voice came through, quiet at first before clearing his throat and starting the message.

There was no mistaking what he was asking of her.

She looked at the photo frame that stood next to the answer machine as she listened to the last of the message. She still didn't know why she'd decided to send him her phone number, guilt perhaps? Either way his invitation was there - if you could call a request an invitation. All she needed to do now was make a decision.

Draining the last of her wine from her glass, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. If she was going to make a decision like that, she was certainly going to need more alcohol and headed to the kitchen for the bottle she'd stashed away at the back of the fridge.


	2. Chapter 2

**What Stays In Vegas: Chapter Two**

It wasn't often the lab found itself backlogged, but sickness, maternity leave, breakdown of equipment, budgets and staff cuts were bringing down the already overstretched team of CSI's and lab techs. With evidence coming in and piling up by the hour, it was making for an increasingly tense working environment. It was getting harder and harder and Grissom was just about ready to throw in the proverbial towel. His team were slowly inching into a triple shift and he could feel the onslaught of a migraine coming on. He'd hoped that in the confines of his office, away from the issues outside his door he'd have some chance at shaking off the headache. But he was having no luck, it continued thumping away, a pulse of it's own.

Having escaped to the confines of his office, he drew a sigh of relief when he could finally close the door on the chaos of the labs.

Taking solace in the silence of the room he dropped down into his seat at his desk and surveyed the mounds of textbooks, jotter pads littered with his notes, file reports and finally crime scene photographs. Not being able to bare the sight of them any longer, he swiftly closed the folder containing the shots.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he pulled his reading glasses back on. Forcing himself to sit up her ran over what notes that were in his reach, forcing him to revisit the crime scene photos that he'd only just hidden from his view.

It was all relevant to the case that was currently plaguing the graveyard shift since the early hours of Tuesday morning. They were now running into the early hours of Friday and still looking at a case with no answers.

He had a vocally frustrated team and an equally vocal sheriff breathing down his neck who wasn't afraid to tell Grissom that he was growing irritated by their lack of progress and was breathing down his neck looking for answers. He'd already avoided five calls within the last hour; he could only wonder how many more of them he could dodge.

But without any answers from trace and DNA, they were clutching at straws and at empty theories unable to provide anyone with any answers.

Grissom scribbled several notes in addition to the reminders he'd left himself across the legal pad at his side. He continued this for several moments before he finally gave in to the pulsating pain.

Tossing the pen onto the desk, he started the frantic rummage through the drawers of his desk in search of the medication that he hoped would soothe his pain, quelling the migraine that was threatening to explode.

Slamming the last drawer shut in annoyance, his medication still unfound he turned his attention to the shelves behind him in search for the familiar orange container.

Shifting among the pickled delights on his shelves he'd collected over the years, he chided himself for allowing it to get so dusty. He was about to turn back to his desk when out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint of silver. Scooting forward, he pushed aside the aptly christened 'Miss. Piggy' and pulled out what what'd caught his eye.

He looked down to inspect what it was he'd found, a sterling silver photo frame.

The frame had been a gift, meant to put a little normality into the office. It was an impromptu gift from the person who currently occupied the frame itself. It was his choice to put the picture in there, he'd found it one day when clearing out the drawers of his apartment. Of course not for spring-cleaning, but instead in a hunt for a missing journal. It'd been taken years ago in a park the other side of Vegas one summer afternoon. After finding it, he'd promptly put it up on his desk the following evening.

Though he couldn't quite remember when it'd ended up at the back of the shelf.

He turned the frame in his hands and inspected the back before unclipping the hooks. As he pulled the back from the frame a scrap of paper fell from underneath, carefully placing the frame down onto the desk he picked up the piece of paper. There scrawled across it was a telephone number, one he'd never really had the courage or want to ring in the past.

Now as he picked up the phone and dialled the number from the scrap of paper held tightly in his hand he just hoped it would connect.


End file.
